Fan Fiction
by KimotoCat
Summary: Did you know that the actors of a television series are not supposed to read fanfiction? Would you like to know why? (Finished)


_Title: "Fan Fiction"_

_Author: KimotoCat._

_Rating: PG for some foul language. Expect some angst as well._

_Classification: A short story in a known environment – On the 1013 team._

_Spoilers: None._

_Requirements: None. (Previous knowledge of the X-Files and the folks behind it?)_

_Summary: Some actors discover the fan fiction-genre, only to discover that scary coincidences also occur in the real world._

_Disclaimer: I fully acknowledge that the concept of the X-files is a registered trademark and property of Chris Carter and FOX. Some of the people portrayed here are real people and this author has no idea, how they would act or behave in reality; no offence is intended. This is not a work of copyright or personal violation, but should be seen as a contribution to a piece of television art._

**Fan Fiction**

The car screeched to a halt on the dirt road and special agent with the FBI, Fox Mulder, jumped out of the car before it had fully stopped. Ignoring the pounding masses of rain, he squinted down the road at a branch from a tree, almost looking as if he dared it explain why it lay where he was to drive.

As Mulder approached the fallen branch, the driver's door opened and special agent Dana Scully stepped cautiously out of the car, trying to avoid getting more muddy than really necessary.

"Let me help," she offered and took the one end of the offending piece of wood. "Do you think it's been here for long?"

"No, the break in the wood is still damp," Mulder grumbled as his hand touched the frayed end of the thick branch. "It may have been placed there, just to put us off track."

"Mulder," Scully gave an exasperated sigh. "Look around you. It may have slipped your attention, but it's raining! No, it's pouring, almost antediluvian in its intensity!"

"Antediluvian, Scully?" Mulder gave her an anything but appreciative glare. "Cute. Very cute. But this is sap," he said with a final toss of the branch. "We better get moving, or we'll be too late."

Scully gave a short glance upwards, regretting it amongst the heavy raindrops, and then she climbed back into the car, her entire posture one of reluctant acceptance as she slammed the heavy car door again.

"And cut!" cried the young man, who was sitting under a plastic cover not far from the car. "I think that's a wrap. Gillian, I loved the way your shoulders sagged."

The car doors opened again as David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson came out, only to be replaced by the skilled stunt-driver who would soon speed off and, in doing so, send cascades of mud backwards and upwards, suggesting the urge of the driver.

"I don't know how you did this, Vince," David grinned at the man. "You must have really good connections to order a cascade like this. It rains almost as much as in the script, and I thought we'd have to use artificial."

Vince, the producer of this particular episode of the popular X-Files television series, just smiled at the actor and gave a wink. He had to admit that the weather was perfect. They were shooting scenes for an upcoming episode and needed a very damp and rainy pine forest with the kind of atmosphere that attracted aliens in this television series. Not only had they found the place relatively easily, but the rain had come almost as if on request.

He waved his dismissal at the actors as they prepared for the last shots of today; the car speeding off with the stunt-driver behind the wheel and David's double in the passenger seat, just to match the number of people in the car. In this kind of weather, nobody could see if it was David Duchovny, Chris Carter or even Oprah Winfrey, sitting in the passenger seat.

But the script required two people in the vehicle, so…

With a satisfied though somewhat tired gesture, he signalled for the camera to roll and everybody took their places for the simple atmosphere-shot.

Meanwhile, David and Gillian walked back to the nearby makeshift trailer-park that was to be their home for the next two days of filming.

"Antediluvian?" David grinned. "Who came up with that one anyway?"

"Ask Vince, he's the capo di tuti cappi," Gillian smiled. "But the weather sure does fit the description. Almost eerily, don't you think?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Guess even the TV-guys get to be lucky from time to time."

X X X X X

They ate together in the biggest camper and then retired early that evening; everybody wanted to get some rest as the upcoming scenes would have to be filmed in the early morning next day and this meant that they would need their sleep.

"Good night then," David called after Gillian as they split on the open area between the campers. "Remember to get a good night's sleep."

"Well, not that good," Gillian countered. "After all, I am supposed to be bitchy and tired by tomorrow. Poor, poor Mulder."

"Right, faced with the famous Scully-wrath. I feel sorry for myself."

"Don't overdo it," Gillian smiled as she reached her door. "Well, good night then."

He waved at her and then continued to his own camper, wanting to do a little reading on the script before going to bed.

X X X X X

The two agents were supposedly looking for signs of alien presence, and as that was by now not really a new angle, David fell asleep while studying the script.

He awoke with a start; something had disturbed his sleep, and he almost jumped before the pain in his neck stopped him.

The absolutely worst thing about falling asleep in a chair was – and is – the splitting pain in the neck when awakening in some uncomfortable position, often leaning too far to one side. And right now, David Duchovny was experiencing just that.

He got up a little more quietly from his chair and rubbed his sore neck, wondering what had alarmed him. He still had a feeling of butterflies somewhere a few inches below his heart and felt uneasy.

Pondering the issue, he poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank it while casting a glance at the clock over the sink. Half past one in the morning. Only four and a half hours till they had to get up in order to start filming at the right time.

He shrugged at the idea some people had about how celebrities always lead lives of luxury and ease. Sure, this life and this success had leant something to the daily routines of David Duchovny – such as avoiding teenage girls – but he still felt that he had to put up some work for it.

Such as having to get up way too early in the morning in order to film out in a wet forest, full of that nasty wax on his forehead, making him seem wounded. It itched worse than anything he had ever tried.

Sighing and smiling slightly at himself for his quiet complaints, he started to unbutton his shirt in order to hop into his bed and get some more pleasant shut-eye than what he had gotten so far.

That was when he noticed that there was a light outside. Another light than the one illuminating the small square between the campers. This light was on in Gillian Anderson's camper and he could tell by the movement of the shadows that she was awake.

Puzzled, he decided to button his shirt again and go and see if there was something wrong. Perhaps the same had startled her, whatever it was. Probably just an animal or something. There sure were a lot of strange sounds in the deep, dark forest.

X X X X X

The rain had stopped an hour ago, and Gillian almost jumped as she heard a knock on the door in the otherwise quiet forest. She put down her mug of coffee and made sure that none was spilled before she turned to the door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's me, David. Are you all right? I saw the lights on."

"Well…" she hesitated. This was all so very silly. Then she made up her mind. "Come inside," she said.

"Hi," he said as he entered, looking concerned. Then he went straight over to sit down. "So, what keeps you up in the middle of the night?"

"I've been reading," she admitted. "Care for some coffee?"

"Must be pretty exciting reading," he smiled back. "Yes, please."

"I only have instant," she excused, handing him a cup and pointing him to the thermos with warm water and the bowl of instant coffee next to it. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure." He looked a little surprised as he helped himself to the coffee.

"I'm reading fan fiction," she admitted with an air like a teenage girl admitting to petting.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I've found a very good one and I just couldn't let go," she smiled sheepishly. "I know we're not supposed to, but who would ever know?"

"Online then?" he inquired.

"Yeah, online. Nothing printed, no evidence. And it's my own laptop."

"Well, I'm a witness," he said in a dry voice. "You really shouldn't, you know. At least not when we're on the set!"

"This one is different," she insisted. "Here, let me show you."

"You're not going to make me into an accomplice," he admonished her and stubbornly refused to leave his chair.

"Listen to this, I'll give you a summary," she went on. "Just summing up the events of it, okay?"

"And nobody else gets to hear about it?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"None alive, girl scout's honour," she promised. "Now listen to this. It's an X-File, naturally. You know, Mulder and Scully, investigating. And it's angst."

"If it's also slash, I'm out of here!" he broke in, only half joking.

"No, now listen," she said and he quieted from her serious tone. "So, the agents are sent to a forest in the Wisconsin area, right?"

"Like we are in this episode?"

"Precisely, but that's not the strange bit," she said, pouring more water and a spoonful of coffee into her own mug. "So, they investigate this film-set, deep in the forest. On a rainy day. And at first, the guys at the set will not let them in, because they think that they may spy for the press or some such nonsense."

"Right."

"So they go to this man, working in the forest, responsible for the area, and ask his help. Now, he's a veteran and walks with a cane, limping badly. And he agrees to help them get past the set's security."

"How do they do that?" David asked, his curiosity piqued.

"That's not the important part," Gillian said and continued, "so they get into the set, consisting of nine campers in all, and discover that there's something strange hidden in the locked camper at the north end of the set."

"Right." He was smiling now.

"And just as they are going to break into the camper, they hear this siren nearby. The sound of a train, coming from an otherwise derelict railway passing close by the set. And mere moments later, a train derails nearby and plunges through the set, killing most the people there, as the train is carrying some kind of fuel that works much like an explosive."

"How do they get away then?" David asked, his smile betraying that she had his attention.

"That's the scary part. The story ends with their first person observations of the plunging train, and this is followed by a short notice from a local news paper referring the disaster and the killing of a lot of people in the set, including several actors."

"Ouch," he exclaimed. Then he noticed that shewas pale and anxious. "What, don't tell me that this scared you? The only thing about fan fiction that should scare you is the legal liabilities in us reading it. At least you should stick to fan fiction regarding something else, like Doctor Who, Star Trek or something else a little more realistic like that."

"David, please listen to me," Gillian said quietly. "How many campers are in this set?"

"Now come off it!" he laughed.

"Please!" she said tersely. "How many?"

"Well…" he counted mentally. "Nine. So what? It's not an unusual number for a set."

"Do you know what is in the northernmost camper?"

"No," he said and looked out the window towards the north, noting the dark camper out there. "Equipment or something like that, I suppose. Little rubber aliens. Don't tell me…"

"I went to it," she said. "And it was locked. All the windows are closed with blinds and it is impossible to look into it."

"Get a grip," he admonished her.

"And then, on the way back, I met Durham, our security supervisor," she murmured. "And I asked if there was such a thing as a special forest guard around here. Guess what he said."

"Oh no, you don't," David said, frowning. "You are taking this way too seriously. Really, I mean it. Get some rest." He got up from the chair and washed down the rest of the coffee.

"There is," she continued, insisting that he heard her story. "And he is a war veteran with a limp. His name is George, and in the fan fiction he is named Gregory!"

"This is absurd," David muttered, making as if to leave, but stopping by the door all the same.

"And there's a derelict railroad just a hundred yards west of here, did you know that?"

"Miss Gillian Anderson," he said, discovering that his own voice was coarse. "I beg you, please, to stop reading fan fiction, at least written about the X-Files. You'll only get yourself into serious trouble that way. Seemingly not only in the legal way."

"David, can't you see that this is pretty strange?" she asked, almost begging him to listen. "All those parts, fitting just perfectly to this place? David, for God's sake, we are in Wisconsin!"

"Wait a moment," he replied, peeking out the window. "I thought I saw something."

"What?" she whispered frantically.

"Somebody by the camper," he said, squinting towards the northern end of the site. "Looks like two people. I wonder who it can be at this hour."

"David…" Gillian said, jumping up and sounding hysterical.

But her next words were drowned out by that of a train siren approaching very nearby…

X X X X X

The **END**


End file.
